So, another stint in FB Jail starting Monday at lunchtime. I was perusing through my feed and came across someone’s post about a Moorish-type castle for sale somewhere either in Georgia, or Europe. The person (and others) were commenting that the price was actually pretty reasonable, except there are several rooms upstairs that don’t have access to water, ie there are no bathrooms. In the spirit of the conversation, I pecked out a comment that said “If Kink.com could find a way to make practical use of a ‘castle’ in the Moorish persuasion (referring to their purchase and upgrade of the old San Francisco Armory), then anyone purchasing this place shouldn’t have any trouble, the only limit would be their imagination.”

Unfortunately, I made the error of putting in the “.com” on Kink, so Facebook automatically linked to the website and that’s when the trouble began. I immediately saw that and went to edit out that part, but Facebook’s algorithm had already denoted the website as being ‘forbidden’ and censored it, the post and me all at the same time. I got a message on my phone that informed me that my comment violated their terms of decency (again) and I was banned from posting/commenting/participating in Facebook for the next 7 days, and to add insult to injury, that included Messenger as well. Nice touch. After having been dinged the last time, no matter how much stink I made about it, they were going to keep it enforced and not give me any proper recourse. Because me, being 53, am going to be treated like a 10-year-old.

Honestly, I’m about ready to deep six my FB account. I can see why so many others have taken that course. Zuckerberg and Co. have really gotten too big for their britches and this censorship crap has to go. I was talking to my slave last night about it and (while lamenting that we’re not going to be able to use Messenger until next Monday) she agrees with me. The other part about the whole FB fiasco to me is how they deal with their stockholders. It’s a publicly traded company, but anyone that buys stock in it has no say in how the company does business. There are two separate types of stock in Facebook. The voting version, the one with all the power, is owned by Zuckerberg and others that he considers being in his ‘inner circle’. IOW, people that will do as he suggests, tells, whatever. People that won’t do things, not in his best interest. Anyone else who buys stock gets the other type. The type with ZERO power. So if a bunch of stockholders got together and wanted to change things at FB at the stockholders meeting, they can’t. They don’t have any recourse if Zuckerberg et al decides to censor people based on a draconian algorithm that caters to not offending the lowest common denominator. Which is what we do anymore. There’s no ‘let’s teach our children not to do certain things so they can better participate in society’. No, we do it the opposite way. “Let’s enact laws that keep those children safe at the expense of anyone else with a shred of common sense.” Yeah, that’s much better. (Insert eye roll here)

It’s not to say that I don’t want some sort of control over what can be posted on social media, but it needs to make sense to someone that’s an ADULT. Treating everyone, in the same manner, is something that doesn’t make sense to me, and I’ve been online before there was an Internet. Too, when you say that you’re making a decision and there’s a method for pleading your case, be certain that the method doesn’t negate anything that the person who supposedly offended has to say, or impose the punishment regardless of what the other person has to say. That’s neither right nor fair. What Facebook is doing is just patently wrong. And since they tout themselves as being a ‘free’ service, they can go on doing what they do with little to no recourse.

I look at the calendar. Another day passed since I saw her last. I can still remember what she looked like, what she smelled like when we parted. I gave her the hat I purchased for myself at the museum so that she had something else of mine to keep close to her. At the time, we had been planning to get together again in a couple of months. But that didn’t happen. Then more suggestions of when to get together. Those didn’t happen either and winter set in.

During winter, it was as if there was a wall set up around one of the state borders, and it was made of ice and snow. Where she lives, it occasionally snows, not as it does in the Mid-Atlantic region where I reside. Too, her vehicle isn’t completely reliable in many ways, so driving a good distance isn’t recommended. Another roadblock of sorts, that keeps us apart. Of course, at this point, we talk about the big bugaboo, money. Working full-time when you’re living alone doesn’t afford you a lot of ‘mad money’, or funds for outside activities. Especially when you’re in an industry that doesn’t pay all that well, even when one has the experience. So saving money ends up being literally nickels and dimes, which doesn’t afford one the ability to be free to travel. The last two times we got together, I either paid the lion’s share of the costs or accepted what she could at that time afford to contribute. The first time I rented a car and drove 10 hours to see her. The second time, we met approximately midway between the two of us. That time I drove the family vehicle. I have to admit, I was pretty shocked how much it cost to rent a vehicle for a week the first time. Astronomical was the word I believed I used then.

As the days count down towards the one year mark for the time we’ve been apart, it makes me more and more melancholy. Sure, we keep in touch via social media, phone calls, texts and the like, but it’s most definitely not the same thing as being there. Spending time with her, even if it’s just sitting on the couch, watching television together, or her sliding down off the couch to rest her head on my knee while we’re doing whatever. Having that physical contact is key, and it’s what we’re missing. I hear about her adventures with her poly family, and honestly, it bothers me that she gets to have adventures, and I don’t. I’ve been sitting here spinning my wheels for 344 days. Too, it reminds me of the collar fiasco. I thought about getting her another one, but if I’m not there to see it, to enjoy seeing it on her, what’s the point? And besides, it’s another outlay of my money for her benefit. So it too got shelved.

Finally, I’ve given up shopping for toys. I have so many here that have no purpose, no use, other than taking up space in the house. My wife looks at them, then at me, and doesn’t ask the question we both know she’s thinking. “what are you going to do with all this stuff??” Honestly, right now….nothing.

Ugh, this is hard to write. But its harder still to endure. I have no idea what the solution is, but I am extremely tired of waiting. And watching. And observing. And being left out.

I was thinking the other day, since I don’t have an active partner to play with, at least not here. Still. But as I said, I was thinking about all the time that I’ve spent in the scene, and how much of it I’ve actively participated. When I say ‘participated’, I mean actually being there, with someone else, playing interactively. Not online, not in a chat room, or on the phone, hot texting one another, or writing elaborate paper mails to one another, then waiting for them to read it several or many days later. Then waiting again for the return letter and so on.

Actual ‘in the trenches‘ play time. Where you get your hands dirty (as well as some other things). Doing a little figuring, I came up with a rather sobering total. And it wasn’t pretty. By my estimation I’ve been part of the BDSM scene since I was about 18. I’m not going to go into the nuts and bolts of that, because it’s not a good conversation to have here. So let’s say 18 for the sake of argument, or who else might be reading things. I’m now almost 54. So that’s 36 years between the two. In all of that time, what I would term my active experience comes out to a little less than 6 months. 6 MONTHS. Told you it was a sobering thought.

Even now it makes me wonder how all of that time managed to skate past. Though I know the old adages; Life gets in the way, finances don’t always come together, and the most often one, there’s no one to play with. So you just sit back on your heels, live your ‘other’ life, and try to keep your hand in the game, by watching others enjoy themselves, going to munches, networking, doing a little negotiating, perhaps attend a play party here and there, but me, not being the voyeuristic type, doing that is just maddening, because I’m not a good watcher. And yes, as I’ve mentioned time and again, building up a nice toy collection. That now as before gathers dust in a couple bedrooms in my house.

Just throwing this out here, since it’s been hanging around in my head for a few days now and I need it out in the open. Thanks for listening/reading.

Communication is one of the main linchpins to any relationship, that goes without saying. Keeping the lines open is necessary for forging ahead with anything else that you do, for if you don’t, how can you keep the other apprised of things that are happening in your head, much less what can be possible elsewhere in the relationship? To that end, every morning, I write a message to my slave.

With all my other D/s relationships, it started out pretty differently. They were required to write to me, and during the course of the day I would either respond in email or we’d meet up on IRC or whatever other method we were using to keep in touch. I’ve never really had a BDSM relationship with someone who lived here with me long-term, at least no one that was directly involved in my orbit. (We’ve had submissives living with us in our home, but they weren’t my subs, they belonged to my wife) Certainly I would have preferred to do it the other way, but circumstances just never matched up so that the subs/bottoms I found were local to me. Such is the way of my world, y’know?

As I’ve mentioned before, my current slave/pet lives several states away from me. We’ve been trying to figure out how to get together more often, but the old bugaboo of money keeps getting in the way. So in the interim, we’re relegated to phone calls, texts, emails and the like to keep in touch. I start out every morning with a message to her (well, it’s usually mornings), and she responds when she has the chance. Lunchtime (if I’m at work) I send her another message, and again she responds (as time permits). After work, the same thing and so on. Days off for me are a little more hit and miss, since I’m not rising at the same time as I would be for work, I get busy with this and that, and often (to her chagrin) I forget to post the message in a timely manner. Nobody’s perfect, and she understands that. I do what I can, when I can.

But, a little bit of something from someone who you’re connected with helps. That’s pretty much my message here. Try not to get despondent if its been many months since the last time you’ve laid eyes on one another. Try to be upbeat. If you can, send something along to them (or they to you) to remind them of yourself or vice versa. I read on another blog about how a Dominant sent his submissive a bottle of his favorite cologne, so his submissive could spritz it on a shirt and sleep with it, or have something that smells like him around so she could be closer in a manner of speaking. I thought that was a fantastic idea and I implemented it. Now granted I don’t normally wear cologne, but there’s a certain fragrance that I’ve always preferred. Along with some other items, I bundled the bottle I had in my bathroom cabinet up and sent it to my girl. She’s been using it (sparingly I hope!) in the manner to which I described, and it helps melt the miles a bit. She also has clothing of mine, as well as a flogger I presented her early on in our relationship.

Finally, I have a counter at the bottom of this blog. It tells me (and anyone else that cares to look) how long its been since the last time I’ve seen her. In person. I remember vividly where I was, and how long it took for her vehicle to vanish from my sight. I want to see her again, and could have if I chose to be the one to afford the trip, but we’ve agreed I’m not doing that anymore. A relationship is a two-way street. Both sides have to support it in all ways. So it may take a little longer, but I’ll see her again.

As a rule, I don’t spend a great deal of time on Fetlife anymore. As the time passes by between when I had personal interaction with my slave, I’ve been finding it’s becoming less and less important to my life. And in a way, that’s sad. But expected. While I still am kinky through and through, my non-kinky life takes precedence. Because work, and life in general become priorities since I’m focusing on them more and more. The adventures in FB Jail just bring that more home to me, that I’m really unable to express myself openly as a kink-friendly person, without their being consequences.

There have been times in the past when I’ve shuttered my Fetlife account. Well, shuttered is too strong a term. On several occasions I’ve contemplated deleting my account and moving on, especially the time when I’d been without anyone (yin to my yang and all that) for a period of 5-6 years. Spending years looking for someone and not finding them takes a toll on you. Increasingly going to a place where people post about the wonderful times they have, and you’re definitely not isn’t conducive to wanting to go back day after day. I had the same experience with the website CollarMe/Collarspace. Though with that particular site, I pretty much knew going in that any ad that I placed wasn’t going to be getting much in the way of traffic. And I was right, for the most part the only views I got were either from transpeople or people looking for something else than what I was offering. One accepts that sort of thing after a while. I leave my ad up there just because I guess I’m too lazy to delete it. Over the years the same thing goes for Fetlife, I believe. I’ve changed my profile a few times, have suspended the account twice in 10 years (could never really bring myself to leave) and just recently accepted the mantle of overseeing a group that seems to be in the throes of dying, just doesn’t know enough to be deleted. Sounds pretty typical, doesn’t it?

In the recent past, I’ve started two munch groups, only to watch the first one thrive for a little while, until apathy killed it. The second one I started, in the same general area, except for being about 20 miles closer to me, worked for a while, but again apathy was what made it go away. People are ok talking to one another online, but ask them to meet in a public place, on an evening, having to travel a little bit to get there, and everything seems to go sideways. Munches work in many places, I’ve just never lived in an area where people are just so unabashedly lazy about wanting to get together. I swear it works elsewhere! Just not here. There’s a play space on the next lake over, that I’ve been to, just not with anyone to play with myself, so that made it boring for me. (I’m not a voyeur) However, others were having a good time, and that suggested to me that interaction was working there, and the group was made up of people who knew one another from several semi-local munch groups among the areas of Ithaca, Syracuse and Elmira.

Ultimately, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about the Fetlife account. Probably just leave it up and check in on it once a week. I get notifications via email if there’s something happening in either of the groups I moderate, or if I get a message. Otherwise, I think it’s just time to do other things. Have a little fun for once.

Even though I don’t get the opportunity all that often to play, due to the necessities of the LDR that I’m presently in, it doesn’t stop me from looking around and planning ahead for when the time comes for us to be together. Even though I live in a house that’s nearly 200 years old, it wasn’t necessarily designed with BDSM play in mind. The rooms for the most part are small, with high ceilings, and the construction of the walls and ceilings aren’t really conducive towards adding things like anchor points or what would be called ‘hard points’ in the trade, ie: items or things that can be used for tying rope or attaching chain to when restraining someone.

I suppose I could get some lumber or a shipment of pipe and construct a piece (or several pieces) of furniture that would do the same thing (or purchase one from a variety of sellers I’m aware of). Too, I’ve been contemplating taking welding classes so I could in the far-flung off future create my own diabolical devices, but that’s a ways off. This is more about places elsewhere that we can play, that would sort of be off the beaten path as it were, and wouldn’t necessarily involve trespassing or being caught in places we’re not supposed to be, either by the landowners, or by the police type authorities.

There are several play-spaces nearby that can be utilized, and I have one scene friend in particular who has in the past offered me use of her in-home dungeon. I did a favor for her a couple of years ago, and she graciously offered me use of her play space. I didn’t take her up on it at the time, since the situation between my slave and I was in a different space, and I wasn’t entirely certain she was going to be visiting. As it turned out I was right. She didn’t and I wasn’t in need of the space at that time. I’d have to check to see if the invitation is still open (fairly sure it is), and then make use of it if we’re both agreeable.

The only roadblock to using the play-spaces I alluded to in the previous paragraph is, they’re public play-spaces and usually would be active with a play party of the organization at the time. They’re not rent-able by private parties, so my girl would have to be comfortable playing in public and at this juncture I’m fairly certain she’s not. So, while a good idea, it’s going to have to be shelved for the time being. But waiting also has its downfalls, as play-spaces don’t always stay open long-term. People get out of the scene all the time, things happen and places close. It all can be pretty fluid like in all things. It has a lot to do with money and people getting older and less interested at times.

There’s one place where I live that I would dearly love to either rent or purchase, because it would be ideal for a play space of my own. It’s an old meat-packing building, though it sits in the off-side of town, and there are residential houses nearby. Even so it could be easily converted for use, although there have been rumors of it being used by homeless people over the years, and it’s probably in pretty cruddy shape by now. To me, if I came into a good chunk of money, I’d probably take the chance, but I’ve never been inside the building, so it’s a pipe dream at this juncture. Just something I’ve always wondered about, thought about and dreamt of. I actually equate it to the former studios of Insex on J Street in Brooklyn. Oh, if those walls could talk!

Honestly, the closest I can equate what I feel this to be is in kindergarten. Posting something on what’s basically an adult forum, (since the group I’m in doesn’t allow anyone under 18) and getting dinged by an algorithm. I’ll leave it to you to decide if what you’re seeing is offensive. Because me, personally? I don’t. And neither does anyone in the group that I’m in because the post has been liked and shared over a hundred times in the last couple of hours.